As Sweet As Poison
by Arhtea
Summary: Written for QLFC season 6 round 9. A desperate woman walks into private detective Minerva McGonagall's office and asks for help. But is everything as it seems?


**Team:** Pride of Portree

 **Round:** I Am Woman

 **Position:** Keeper

 **Keeper's Prompt:** Minerva McGonagall

 **Word count: 2950**

 **Also written for The Golden Snitch (Hufflepuff, Hogwarts) challenge Through the Universe, prompt 42. Cosmic string - (setting) 1940s**

 **No magic AU, takes place in the 1940ish. Minerva's mannerisms and way of talking (and inner voice) have been adjusted a bit to go with the style. Also as for Walburga Black, I am working from the assumption that she wasn't always like her portrait at Grimmauld place no 12 but was once capable of rather more charm when necessary.**

 **Beta love to Story Please, Crochetaway and Sekdaniels!**

* * *

 **As Sweet as Poison**

Of all the little detective agencies, this dame had to walk into mine. I knew she was trouble right away. Well, not entirely true, but I can't say she looked like good news either. She flipped her long brown hair and despite all my years of working in this city, I was caught off guard. "Minerva McGonagall?" the woman asked, her voice as sweet as honey.

"Yes, what can I do for you, miss…?"

"Walburga. Walburga Black. And it is Missus actually," she replied and sat in the chair for clients. Now her face was in the light and even under the large sunglasses and wide-brimmed hat I saw the delicate features, like she'd been carved out of marble by a skilled sculptor.

"What can I do for you, Missus Black?" I repeated.

She didn't answer right away, just slipped her hand into her pocket, retrieved a golden cigarette holder and leaned closer. "Do you have a light?"

As I looked around for my lighter, she began talking. "I'm afraid I am in terrible trouble, Minerva. Can I call you Minerva?"

With that voice like a choir of angels she could have called me anything. I lit her cigarette as she held the holder to her fiery red lips. Seems she didn't expect me to answer because she leaned back against the back of the chair and placed one of her gloved hands on the armrest. Her fingers began falling against it in a steady rhythm. "It is about my husband. I want to leave him but I am afraid!"

"Afraid of what he'll do?" I asked, reaching for my notebook.

A bit of ash fell from her cigarette onto my carpet and she made a noise that sounded like stifled cry.

Suddenly, she was out of her chair again and with her free hand pulled off the sunglasses. Even though her face was still obscured by the hat, the bruise was visible. Her right eye was swollen almost shut and purplish in color. Then she pulled back the silk scarf around her neck and showed the marks. They looked about the size of fingerprints.

"Did he do this to you?" I asked, feeling a stab of anger stir in me.

"He doesn't mean it. He can't help himself. But he gets so angry…and I'm afraid…" she took a breath and shook her head. "I'm afraid one day he'll kill me." She stepped back and collapsed into the chair, holding her left hand over her mouth.

Perhaps I shouldn't have been so quick to jump to a conclusion but...there was something about people putting their hands on innocent victims. Dad used to joke it was my destiny to try and save every lad and maiden in distress.

"What is your husband's name?"

"Orion Black." She shook her head. "I don't want anything to happen to him. I just want to get away from him quietly. If you could just help me…"

She wasn't my first relocation. There were sadly more than handful of women in the same condition. As housewives they had little money to support themselves, often their husbands were controlling all their assets. I had a network in place. A man I knew was willing to, albeit very grudgingly, provide temporary shelter and from there we found them a new home and a job that would pay for their needs.

She wanted it to happen in three weeks. She said that her husband would be headed out of town on business which would make an extraction much easier She was adamant about not wanting a scene. She said if Orion was there, if he even stumbled onto the plan by accident, he'd get violent. She also said that right after a trip her husband would be the most dangerous. He'd come home and think she'd been using her free time to fool around. She had a small scar on her side that she said happened when he thought she'd been too friendly with the mailman. I promised to make it happen as she wanted.

Then she got afraid that he'd attack her again before the extraction. I hesitated but she looked desperate so I promised I would shadow her a bit, just to keep her safe. I don't do that for everyone—I'm not trying to save the world—but sometimes I, too, long for a better one.

Severus wasn't happy when I called him to arrange for Walburga to stay over. Then again when was he ever? He was only thirty-something with a past he didn't speak about, but he was reliable. We had sprung each other from enough jams for that to be true. After some grumbling he said he'd set up the guest bedroom for the date in question.

Following her was easy. I shadowed them from my car. They seemed so scarily normal. He only raised his voice at her once or twice. If I hadn't seen the bruises…Well, they did have one fight. He dragged her out of the car by her arm. I moved closer to check that he wasn't going to hurt her inside but she saw me and shook her head at me not to intervene. Next morning I knew I should have. She came out of the house with a long-sleeved blouse and a turtleneck. She wasn't the kind of woman to cover up without a reason.

Then came the night of the extraction. She had told me to wait for her call. At quarter past nine she called to tell me to wait forty-five minutes to be sure her husband was on the plane. At ten I took my hat, my coat, and after a moment of hesitation, my old .38 Special. I didn't expect trouble,but it was always better to be prepared for the unexpected.

Their house was dark and seemed deserted. For a moment I thought that maybe she had already fled. Or maybe…Maybe I'd waited too long. Maybe her husband had gone too far this time. I felt a cold sweat go down my spine and reached for the door. It opened at a touch. Inside I could hear no sound as I began moving through the house. I didn't dare call out her name without knowing what was wrong. My hand touched the gun and I found some comfort in it.

The living room was empty. So was the hallway. I moved on to the kitchen. There was something sticky on the floor. It looked like blood. My heart skipped a beat. I moved forward. There was a knife lying on a counter, the blade glistening. I walked around the counter and I saw him lying on the floor, unmistakably dead.

There were steps behind me. I turned and that's when it all went black.

When I came to, they were all bustling around me, snapping pictures. My hands were already cuffed and _he_ was glaring at me. Old Mad-Eye's never liked me. He's got a thing about dames being detectives. Thinks we haven't got what it takes.

Well that look wasn't doubting anything. He shook his head when he saw I was awake. "I knew it would end like this — you getting in over your head, girl." His voice was even a tad sympathetic. "Didn't know you had it in you to stiff someone though."

My head ached something awful but I sat up slowly. There was no question about it; Orion Black was as dead as a dodo and it was undoubtedly my gun that lay a few feet away. I went into a cold sweat again but for a different reason.

There she stood — a real piece of work. The veil must have just been waiting for the black widow act and already there were two more police officers than necessary hovering around her with handkerchiefs. I couldn't hear what she was saying but she kept looking at me with anger and betrayal in her eyes. Then she showed them some pictures.

I couldn't see anything else because Moody stepped in to block my view. They took me back to the station and worked me over pretty good. I guess Moody thinking dames are too fragile for the job doesn't extend to when they are suspected of murder. I told them everything and then Moody showed me the pictures. She'd said I'd been following her. I'd been obsessed with her. She said she thought I'd do something like this. There was no record of a phone call between me and her the night before. I had gotten one from a number I didn't recognize and even though they said they'd look into it, I doubted their word. It was a pretty web; I had been following her around after all. Still, I stuck to my story and even in this hellhole the cops can only explain away so many bruises. After a while they let me make my phone call.

Severus was furious. A feeling I could understand when he left me to go look for a first aid kit and out bounced some bushy-haired babe. By the way she looked at him, and the black lace nightgown, I could tell why he'd been so cranky about having a visitor over.

My arrival may have soured his plans but, to his credit, Severus was still furious at Moody. He listened to my story with a frown as he cleaned me up and couldn't help commenting on my gullibility. He was right of course.

He offered to help but he'd already done enough. This was my mess. As soon as I was well enough, I left and headed back to the office. The door barely hung from the hinges. They'd searched it and not politely.

They'd also taken my gun which was probably a good thing. I might have shot her when I met her the next day. She was at a cafe. I wasn't sure about approaching her alone. I needed witnesses or I'd be back for another round with Moody for intimidation. But I have to admit she had the grieving widow act down to a T. She was all in black and damn did she look stunning. She never broke character either. When she saw me, her lower lip began quivering and before I knew it, she had thrown her wine at me. "Murderer! You killed my husband and you dare to approach me!" She jumped up and slapped me across the face. I grabbed her hand when she tried it again. "Easy, sweetheart."

"Let go of me, you brute! You witch!" Two men stood up.

"Let her go!" yelled someone.

I ignored them. "If you think this is over, darling, you have another thing coming." I swear she smirked at me. I let her go before the men behind me did something unseemly.

This was a real mess and I couldn't see a way out. Walburga wasn't going to talk. She'd found her sucker and she wasn't going to budge. But when you're sinking in a pot of cream, you keep paddling like hell until the cream turns into butter.

First step was to find the joker who'd been shadowing me. I hadn't noticed them and without being arrogant I can say that there are few people in this city who can pull that off. Out of those few only three had the morals to spy on a fellow sleuth. I went through them one by one. Old Sluggy was first. He's a decent P.I. but he's lazy and self-centered. Doesn't really care for where the money comes from as long as he has to work very little for it. So he was out. He'd taken a job just two weeks ago and he still had money left. He only worked when he absolutely had to. Shacklebolt was a more likely candidate and his morals were flexible if he thought he was doing what was right but he was out of the country. So that left me with Pettigrew. He was a small rodent of a man and when you looked at him, you wouldn't even suspect he could do that, but he had an uncanny ability to sneak up on people.

I took Severus with me. He's got that look that makes people confess even the secrets they weren't keeping. When I pulled the door open, Pettigrew was already out the window, which is where Severus was waiting for him. He dragged him back inside and threw him in an armchair.

"What do you want?" he exclaimed.

"To talk." I slapped a picture of Walburga down before him. "You've seen this broad?"

His mouth said no but his eyes said yes.

"I'll take that as a yes. Did you follow me for her?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about—" Severus grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and yanked him out.

"Start talking, rodent," he hissed and I had to take a moment to reflect on how much he looked like a snake about to gobble up a rat.

"Alright, alright! Please! Minnie, please don't let him hurt me!" the man begged, hoping to sweeten me up with the nickname. I didn't care for it but it showed how nervous he was.

I smiled at him. "Tell me the truth and I won't have to." I couldn't say I approved of all Severus's methods but he wasn't actually harming the man.

"Fine, I'm sorry. I needed the money!"

"So you _did_ follow me. I don't suppose you did it yesterday evening?"

Pettigrew shook his head. By how terrified he looked, I figured he was telling the truth.

"You can let him go now, Severus."

"Are you sure you don't want me to punch him once or twice?" he asked.

"Severus, be nice," I replied. After all, I figured I might need Pettigrew in the future.

"Fine." Severus threw him back in the chair and we left.

Next stop was the house. The police had turned it upside-down, but the scene was still clear. A fight in the kitchen, then I drew my gun and I shot him twice. After that I slipped, hit my head on the kitchen counter and lost consciousness. Severus thought she'd sewn up all ends quite nicely.

Then I found it. It was stuck at the bottom of a bin of food waste the police had overlooked; a syringe and an empty bottle of chloroform. Guess she needed something to knock Orion out so he'd be willing to lie down on the kitchen floor while she set the scene. There were fingerprints on it. Smudged but maybe the lab could work with them. There were letters, too that Severus scraped from the the fireplace. Loveletters. Mostly destroyed but some were salvageable enough. The problem, as ever, was Moody; he would not believe I just _found_ them. We were gonna need a scheme...

Severus's broad was kind enough to tip off the police. She said she was a neighbour and saw someone sneaking around the house. Moody had obviously taken Walburga Black into his own shriveled up heart, because they were there like someone lit a rocket under them. When he saw me, he seemed almost disappointed but nevertheless told the boys to arrest me. I put up a fight when they took me, making sure I kicked over the garbage can, and with it, a small tin of brownish powder. Of course Moody was all over it; I even heard him order the house searched from top to bottom and threatened to take off heads if he found anyone cutting corners. His kid had overdosed on opium and it hit him in all the wrong spots. It was a cheap trick, but I was done playing fair.

They must have found the syringe and the chloroform—the love letters too—because they let me out three days later. I copped to threatening Pettigrew and they questioned Severus, too. At least I think they did, because next morning Dawlish, had a fresh black eye. I worried about Severus until I overheard a conversation between two other officers. Some brown-haired bint, as they called her, had chewed up everyone at the station for police brutality. Seems she was a lawyer of some renown. Moody didn't exactly apologize but he did say he owed me one for the inconvenience when he finally let me go.

And when I got back to the office, there the dame sat, her black outfit impeccable and exaggerating all the right curves. I wasn't even in the door when her arms were around me and she kissed both my cheeks.

"Oh I'm sorry I blamed you!" she gushed, her voice as sweet as poison. "So very sorry. The police came to talk to me. It was that awful Pettigrew. I hired him for some work and he began bothering me. They say he drugged my poor husband with chloroform and then lured you in so he could take your gun and shot Orion."

I didn't bother correcting her, or even asking how she explained away having Pettigrew's photographs. If she got Peter's fingerprints on the bottle of chloroform, there was no point. In hindsight it had been a tad too easy to find those letters, so maybe I was never meant to be the _real_ fallgal. Instead, I waited until she waltzed back out of my office, called Severus to thank him for the quickly supplied opium, and sat back with a glass of whiskey wondering how I'd get Pettigrew out of this fine mess. I couldn't just let him hang; even if he was a rodent.

But that would be a fight for another day.


End file.
